


Hopeful Delirium

by orphan_account



Category: Dr. STONE (Anime), Dr. STONE (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Love, M/M, Pain, cant tag for shit, just gen suffering, lots of pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Initium; essential colours. Definite tenderness of their undeniable intimacy. Certainly has made their foolish, tranquil souls, pulse to the other for existence.Finis; various tints of grief, and loss. Hence, made the other, the feeble one of tremors, find contentment by demise.
Relationships: Asagiri Gen/Ishigami Senkuu
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	1. initium; 50,400 Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> english is not my main language. therefore, i apologize in advance. i could have written this a lot better if i gave myself a few more days. but im super lazy :( 
> 
> follow my twitter! @prblue_

All about this current state is the opposite of inviting, _warm-hearted couches of relief._ The aspire to feel embraced by the newly sympathy of the fiery sun, and its emitting glow to declare new dawn.

The duration of this definite time. From the conclusion of the sedative yet most productive midday. To the commencement of the consuming nocturne of the pitch. Gloominess was for a fact, _truly_ penetrating. His fragrance of maturity, _the scarlet fluid_ was becoming steadily hot. Damaged with smothering terror. Heart pounding uncontrollably. _The brain_ was captivated to familiarise him with fearful thoughts.

The cavern was desolated, ears strained with no pitches delivered by individuals. Merely a cavernous void demanding to be saturated with any kind of vibration. The silence proceeded in tightening. It should have thinned by now from their steps but _rather_ , it became _viscous_ and _denser_ like a sheet with every step he process. His brain strife to mention per action while gawking at the floor with a scowl.

The taciturnity of this doom, the unfairness itself of the sudden occurrence of the stone world. With no indications of radiant light, the place is flickering with the devotion towards the gloom. This soulless area, available to serve more strain to their then distressed hearts towards humanity and its future.

Gen Asagiri _is terrified._

_As well, utterly comforted to the appearance of his lover. Truly the equivalent of the state of this current atmosphere._

_Comforting_ yet _destructive._

The sound of the bits of wet dazzling pearls echoing ideally with their dedicated footsteps. Addressing a sickening intensity to the puddle of liquid beneath their recently stained boots. Reflecting a horrifying, yet conventional strings of shows to the mentalist with what has truly transpired in this bloodcurdling of a cave.

No character of a human being whatsoever, the cave only yelled wickedness of evil. Walls dimmed by the thousand years of procrastination. Absolutely dank yet emanated of deteriorated death and the odour of revolting water. Their steps functioned to never yield down. Only to attain their coveted independence in this world. They kept it to wander into the intimate, soothing shades of night of this cavern. _Grasping_ that there's no desire of the sun's radiance of warmth so far. _Grasping_ that they have only each other now. 

_They have been lost in this cavern for approximately_ 840 _minutes. It is now increasingly despoiling Gen Asagiri and his thoughts..._

What does Gen have now other than his lover? His so-called magic? _His psychic abilities?_ In contrast to the rest, it is a _joke_ , honestly. Anecdotes such as this, aren't reckoned to be deemed very seriously. Everything befalls with an ingenious structure of a narrative. His 'ability' always conclude in a gag line that does its rightful responsibility of spicing up everyone's monotonous, _shallow_ lives. But to himself? _he is more useless than the most._

This cycle of _unbearable, spontaneous cruelty_ of _distress_ and _burden that rose to bleed him out. More tortuously than the time he truly got wounded._ Swelling in surges like an ocean with constant, unmerciful twists. Each _surge_ has its _own perk_. _One_ is scolding his senses to centre on his insecurities about himself towards Senku and his purpose in restoring the world. _Another_ robs _his real self from himself._ Making _him_ an impassioned _confusion_ with an intent of intentionally sabotaging everything he formulated on himself and his goal he toiled on for _years_.

Being known as the very, _quintessential, flawless,_ mentalist. _An artful, sharp-witted,_ magician. But also a _deserted_ man, absolutely in love, Gen Asagiri. _How far would he go to have different personas?_

Him and Senku, _are in_ the _same mess of a game._ Only with unique origins. Yet still _contracting_ with _an identical void._ _But_ distinct _evils_. 

_And he never understood what Senku saw on him._

_When clearly the evil is himself._

_Stars..._ Truly one does not savour their nature of superiority should they witness the occurrence of them in this stone world. He definitely _does not_ wishes to see more. Reserved vague sheath, distinguishing the blacks and the whites. **_They,_** frequently handled to signify as fortune, guidance and _blessings_ to those that circulated endlessly within this world. Gen, never bothered to acknowledge them up until regarding the shimmering scarlet of his supposed-lover. Glistening so brilliantly and passionately purely by the allusion of it. It was his pride. His pride and pleasure. _A reminder._ The radiation of his luminous that gave him optimism. C _loaking_ him with warmth when the _darkness of the harsh reality_ of this stone world starts crawling in. Those elegant decorations upon the charcoal sheet to mentor those wandering nomads to the rail on this exotic enigma of a universe.

_To mentor Senkuu about his aspiration to sail upon them and within space. Gen knew he could treat his lover better than this. He knew._

_But_ now? there was no light in those vermilion of eyes. Nor his own onyx ones. This place is only a reminder to _grasp_ the roots of their hope. _Petrified_ within their impending fate that both seemed to _already foresee and expect_. There is completely nothing Gen Asagiri could do to make Senku feel a tiny bit better.

He is not the stars _._ He is no _blessing_ nor _fortune_. Nor Senku's _pride_ or _pleasure._ He is just an artificial man who he cannot _recognize_ himself. Perhaps this is where their hearts truly reside? _Perhaps_ their only hopes are the tunes of the dripping water. The _all-familiar_ yet comforting crawling darkness. Their pattern of facilitated breathing that verifies that they are certainly, yet _**alive**_ in this pure pitch of darkness.

_But it could be Gen the one feeling this way only._

A series of informal rustles issuing from the multi-coloured haired. His steps having a moderately irregular look to it. Each step of his was merely swamped of his own tiresome thoughts. Wrapped with regretless and remarkable defects that manifest of who he truly is and who he determined to enhance into. It will be impossible by now if Senku hasn't noticed how seemingly frightened he is by _everything._

_'_ 'We've been together... _For how long?_ '' The blond questioned suddenly, cutting the adhesive sheath of stillness and the almost ravaging thoughts of the multi-coloured male behind him. Gen stood still for a second, processing the sudden sharp echoing in his ears. Then resumed following Senku, silently. Realizing that he was immersed of his own thoughts and mindlessly following his partner from the back for the foreseeing yet _undesired light._

_The only confirmation they need now to know they have finished from this place._

Gen reached out to touch the dense walls with his bandaged hands while their illustrated steps still reverberated within this place. Much more irregular now, very undervalued and penetrating than the atmosphere of his preferred season. The only sounds met his straining ears momentarily were their dedicated tracks of footsteps. The permanent trickles of liquid and crawling insects from tiny holes. Then his own humming, beginning to think of a response to return to his anticipating beloved.

Senku then looked at his back with a smirk on his pale face. Staring with his ruby kernels caringly and honouring what is his **.** Who as well, glanced back at him and declared an incompetent smile to him. Nothing goes unnoticed when it involves the scientist. Senku's question was only asked in the first place to annihilate his very obvious uncertainties about himself and _them._ Gen knows, as he one familiar to the world of psychology. But Senku also knows. _Since he is more familiar to him than he to himself._

As much as he tried to think of a fitting answer to the said question, he can't think of one _at all_. Lack of bearing in mind, perhaps? Or his under-appreciation towards everything Senku did for him? His lover did so, _so_ much for him. But what has Gen done for him? _aiding the process of his insecurities by creating a telescope so he could cherish the stars even more than he already did._

Just as things don't go unnoticed to Senku, so is to Gen.

Senku stopped his debilitated tracks, still glancing at Gen who stalled his own steps to reach the very worn, immobile blonde. The scientist began excluding the bag from his back and yielding it to the sleazy, inattentive ground. His back, kissing the impure walls that carried shivers to his spine. Slipping from it gradually to engage with the ground as he rested his carmine eyes and delivering an exhalation of tautness to embrace the luxury he truly wanted after hours of long walks.

Gen Asagiri stopped completely in front of the spent lover of his, seemingly consumed as much and gently bending down to rest as well. Carefully, and not executing any rackets to the suffocating of pity. Hugging and resting his covered chin on his knees and staring at the feeble yet smirking blonde. In spite of them not finding the awaiting warmness of the day-star, Gen wasn't really fascinated with seeing Senku being quite enthusiastic in this unfortunate situation they are in.

_It is pestering him._

The mentalist who is still thinking of a reply titled his head a little to his right. Still maintaining the stare of his on his lover who laid his head into the wall and drifting to oblivion. So attained there, omnipotent and self-sufficient. _Gen cannot be as strong as him._

''One year, I believe?'' he replied uprightly, drifting his gaze to Senku's now neglected bag on the ground. Wondering if he should make the move and the effort to bring it and polish it from the iniquity of this place or just let it rot there where it belongs.

_Where he belongs._

_''Ahh... Took you long enough. **''**_ Freed scarlet eyes after his saying, and distributing the atmosphere. Bones were throbbing more but now he stared fondly at Gen. Everything was vexatiously dim, restricting him from experimenting any further. Senku was overwhelmed with profound tiredness. But it was not sufficient to prevent him from relishing the person he cherishes the most.

That saying of his got him a definite, _pleasant_ chuckle from Gen. Who was still gawking at his now rotting bag. That **chuckle** , sweet laughter reverberated within his ears and rippled across the soundless cave. It what made Senku an earnest, quite the proud man he truly has become. Gen might believe he can't be part of the whole _'emotions are for those who can put it on and have a connection with the mind to be able to choose for itself'._ But Senku wishes his lover would appreciate himself more than agonising about how others or himself views him. It was not difficult to recognise the kind of person Gen Asagiri truly is.

Gen has deliberately arranged his unrestricted image in beliefs that it would make people accept him if he gets along with everyone, even if counterfeiting is incorporated. Fortunately, he contrived on getting everyone on his good side and have their assistance only if he braces the appearance of being an entertainer and charismatic. Surrendering to the hollow and insecurities within him, whilst giving up on ascertaining a way to saturate it. Gen was admittedly skilled at deceiving it in front of everyone, concealing the fraud within him with smiles and convincing words. Evidently, this has encouraged their plans to succeded more. However, Senku despises seeing the mentalist accepting this part of him as his only reality. 

He sighed loudly and found himself staring at his own bag now on the ground that became the haven of the spiders and soon to be cobwebbed like the rest of the place. _It is a bit agitating to witness his lover not realizing how he is the most human out of all of them._

_''It is so hard to think properly right now, Senku-chan~ I am really tired.''_

Senku chuckled and patted the spot next to him to invite his lover to come closer to him and rest on him. Gen stared at the said spot for an unusual amount of time until he crawled slowly to reach it. Soft fingers on Senku shoulders, delicately supporting himself to lay his also fatigued body on him. His eyes cruising straight ahead to the dark, he flickered. Licking his parched lips in an effort to make them least rigid. 

''W _ater?_ Don't hesitate to drink the rest. I only needed a few drops.'' 

''Y-Yes please.'' He responded. The fiery sentiment in his throat enhanced piercingly stiff to overlook. The opening of the bottle was mangled on his newly drenched lips as he never considered water in this circumstance could be this pleasurable as today. He drank it like he hadn't consulted it for months, with the extract sprinkling from both sides of his mouth as this well-known hacking began to stir.

''Careful. Water does have its negative effects when not handled properly.'' In spite of being enveloped with perpetual air, it wasn't concluding its role of serving him in any sort. He strived to arrange oxygen to his lungs, delivering a definite gasp of exclamation while still panting breathlessly. Eyes stinging and began shredding with tears. _God, he is a mess._

Seconds converted into a minute, as his accelerated breathing ceased. The hacks relaxed in-depth and then gradually omitted while Senku was rubbing his back softly and looking at him profoundly to ease the hacking.

''I will get us out of here.'' The scientist declared assuredly and Gen only resumed in staring at the pitch blackness ahead while breathing heavily. Completely neglecting and overlooking his lover's efforts to console him about how of a mess he is. Senku's arms swiftly encircled around his petite body, mouldering their figures together to share the heat of their bodies from the harsh stings of cold. _He knows Senku will get them out of this place. He did not need to assure him._

_Not only he doubts himself, but he also had to make Senku question his own abilities by reassuring him. Good-fucking-job, mentalist._

His head rests to his shoulder, eyes becoming more accustomed to the dimness. He only replies with a small nod, melting together while sinking to the complete warmth of Senku. Sighing out of pure satisfaction and bliss _._ The warmth his lover that speaks the words of devotion towards him. It felt so right, _it felt like home. Does he deserve it? he yet to know._ He felt him brush his hair softly and kiss his head gently. Lips so delicate like breezing petals. Rocking their bodies and murmuring the same words to calm him down.

_''I promise I will get us out of here.''_

_His soft voice infringed their satisfactory silence and then they looked at each other this time. They both knew that they couldn't be any more fortunate than this. Senku smiled faintly, holding Gen's chin with his skilful fingers and bringing his face to meet him for a kiss._

**_Perhaps the golden rays of warmth aren't the way out the entire time._ **


	2. finis; Cataclysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen just suffering. Just suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed the rating to mature content. i had the need to add an erotic scene. i also really hated myself for writing the end. it is so... ahhhhhhhhhh i cant wait to read your comments about the ending. god i hate myself. 
> 
> follow me on twitter! @prblue_

  
  
  
Among the eyes of _aphrodisiac_ and _desire_. With p _otent appetite_ and _drastic hatred. Y_ ou wonder... If there is _any_ _humanity_ left within _these orbs_ of the folks. With no _memoir_ behind them and every motility they make that is so _clearly not reliable anymore._

You wonder again if any of them were _imposing._

That's what those masses have implied to ingest on throughout his undivided life _. Stare_ at the ones who _they fancy_ to _imply._ To stare until it _consumes_ them out of _jealousy_ , till there's no growth of _mortality_ within those _eyes. Gen saw the ugly. He will never be more than a ball. Dismissed from one to another, played with but thrown aside when they were completely fulfilled with him. He will always alter his_ paths from those who sustain the philosophy of coveting his graces _instead of their own_ and compliant to market their souls to _wander on his shoes instead of theirs._

 _As much he adored the attention of his fans_ _before_ _everyone got petrified, they do not know him enough to desire his life. Please! Do gawk at him with the gaze of an unwelcomed traveller!!! It is more welcoming to look at him with orbs so filled with hatred. So detestable yet so sincere. Rather than reacting with a_ deceitful _smile to be on his good side._ He has seen it _countless_ of times, enough for him to be able to declare the difference between them. As he one who mastered the art of being _utterly fake._

To paraphrase better, he was the kind of person everyone loved to hate. Yet this shows how ignorant this epoch of souls could get. How eager and desperate for a revelation or something inspiring to occur. _They shouldn't want to be in his shoes._ The mentalist never said he was a good person either.

Gen Asagiri.

 _What are you? Who are you?_ They _seek._ _Boldly to Gen_. With no wavering on their lingua, and he fairly beams as if he _smiled_ for the _first time in his presence. He_ would verbalize with unsullied tenderness, emitting lights of compassion and devotion of actual beauty. Nurturing as a perennial that flowerets with the right mass of apprehension in them and with the glow of this inestimable _yet astonishing smiles of his._

_One says his smiles might compete to a goddess should it be genuine._

But one says a man like him, won't last in this world before he breaks faster than glass.

Then again, those eyes of _aphrodisiac_ and _desire_. With _potent appetite_ and _drastic hatred._ You wonder this time, _how far humans can go? How far Gen can go? Senku never witnessed Gen pursued to shun who insulted him._ Always been the _supplier_ and the _anchor_. A _lways been the giver of the brilliance of compassion. Always been the man who granted Senku utter exhilaration._

However, _with_ how _Gen_ gives, the life to him continuously been one of the hurricanes. With a pure intention of destruction and a reminder of how meaningless things can shift. Senku tried. He certainly tried to show his devotions in many different manners. He tried to show the essence of his lover that made him _so in love._

But why is it _so stiff and so tasteless?_ With the deficiency of the _birds_ _harmonising their lyrics,_ _clusters of beauty flowering every once in a while in their relationship? Gen will still_ beg the _god_ to _free_ him _from those eyes who will devastate his soul away one day._

_Whose eyes? Senku never knew. He never wants to know._

Raw hickeys scattered through his pale, boned shoulders. Ones that advanced flawlessly. Ones painted an exquisite polish upon his relatively unhealthy coloured skin; offering all manner of ferrous-perfumed petals of bloom on his delicacy of a body. So bitter deep of crimson. So melodious longings of bruises, sheathing on his entire thin neck. Tiny aching welts radiated splendidly upon the milky chest of Gen's. Very depraved roseate of alluring nipples while the boundless amount of scarlet roses continuously bloomed and falling upon the white mattress. Conceiving an alluring mess of a garden made of sea brimming of roses. Ishigami Senku is absolutely bewitched.

''What _light_? When it _never existed, Senku-chan?_ '' _He said out of nowhere once._

_''And what light? When it keeps flickering without the commitment of darkness?'' He continued, leaving the scientist alone to gaze at the stars._

Gen Asagiri... His very refined appearance, a revelation of what's so-called a beautiful nightmare. A _divine_ , absolute deficiency of light in his own darkness. Born in the wickedness of murkiness and cannot see the clear-cut of wistful light neighbouring him. Senku truly is bewitched and mesmerised by the grace of his lover. Recalling that, he chuckled faintly at the false knowledge of Gen's logic. He never understood what he proposed by that. Perhaps one day he will ask him about him.

Lies the soon-saviour upon his throne of a world. _Blending_ flawlessly with the light that was extending upon the wooden floor, with him, utterly still and with no doubt, _living_. A place where the wicked is outrageous and fuses of curses. Life has only been abundant to him and consumption have been a consist thing of his periodic habit of his. The _scientist_ , to begin with, never _denied_ the _undeniable of this Stone world_. He hates it. And hate, he will save everyone.

_They say he's the evil this Stone world deserved._

He then ran his firm hand within his own dense blonde hair. Gradually evoking bits of their pleasing session when the mentalist grasped his threads _very_ tightly with a content moan willing from his rosy lips in ecstasy. By grasping, _grasping_ the roots of hope. Silently pleading his _world_ wouldn't neglect him unattended and remorseful.

He trounced his unconcealed figure to the ancient oak surface, enduring the inhibited frigid winter of December. Definite, well-muscled limbs crossed upon his breathing firm chest and only shimmering scarlet in this engraving pitch of an azure were dead ahead of the exposed windows. Doing thoroughly a genuine work at manifesting him the purity of what this world is capable of.

A faint and careful sigh left his swollen crimson lips as he tended his ruby optics from the amicable spectacle to the yielded naked male. Laying mindlessly and irresponsibly upon the mattress that weakened under his inadequate influence. His rich, silky multi-coloured air smeared out around the pillow. Rests loose, and mighty, yet, _welcoming_ him to brush and be inundated by the warmness of the stillness and the mellowness of it.

Pleasing bare chest building and settling rhythmically as he spun onto his side. Delivering him a pleasurable landscape of his fully exposed body that he ravaged a while ago. Although, Gen nearly seemed like he was gawking at his very profound soul. Alternatively, he still looked tranquil, _dead_ and _felicitous_. His features were smooth, carefree and the grimace that habitually accommodated on his dainty face when he _thrust his insides_. To ingest something that _loses the dignity_ of a _man_ was substituted by _composure, serenity._ To live in a delusion of a band of colours and perennial of sunflowers.

Standing there evident in his very spot, immobile while laying his orbs at his harmonious and neutral of a face. Arms still crossed upon his firm chest, neglecting the raw cold of this month. He, therefore, _smirked_. Tugged upwards, scarlets glistening on this dull of a room with lust and establishing a maniac in raw passion.

_Gen wouldn't mind another round... Would he?_

Devastating the curve of his delicious half-naked body, he walked towards their bed. He tugged the blanket away and stared at the masterpiece of his doings that is now in a much more revealed form. Carefully laying down on top of the mentalist and applying enough consideration to Gen's very drained figure. He pulled the sheet up over to cover them from the cold produced by the December, with the Selene in the strive of doing the task what Helios wouldn't. In an attempt to spread soft kisses on his lover's neck, his eyes then looked at Gen's sleeping face and stopped himself from continuing the task.

Fingers softly brushing on his petrification mark, gradually sliding down and following the mark's trail till where it ended, his collarbone. So beautifully blemished with manifestations of his love. He stared fondly and lovingly at every hickey of his creations and repeatedly counted them in his head. _How many of them? Ten? Fifteen? How many times Senku has to express his pure love to Gen to make him realise his feelings were nothing more than genuine deeds? How many times Gen will keep thinking they were just misdeeds?_

Why stray away,  
When clearly the crimson eyed only longed for him?  
Why stray further,  
When the crimson eyed wanted is the taste of euphoria from his lips?  
Why stray abroad,  
When the crimson eyed knows he will gaze at him more than he ever did to the stars.

_Will you still stray away?_  
_Faster than the petals on their hands?_

_Faster than their love even began?_

_How come his selfishness caused this invisible agony?_ With their crying hearts, to what makes it glimmer in this pitch of darkness. _Why life never volunteered to be any of their bandages?_

Cheers to them. Cheers!

Cheers to the unheard, of their sorrowing hearts. Cheers to their divided hearts with their threads of fate idling for the other. Cheers to the maroon serum of their mourning love... That polished the mattress with their muffled love.

Cheers to what had prompted their misery!

**_''Sing me a lullaby of death and oblivion to my already anticipated funeral,_ **

**_Gen Asagiri. ''_ ** _He whispered. Softly to his ears as he leaves his very own final kiss._

_Final kiss of heartfelt love and sincerity._

**_._ **

Tik.

_Tok._

Tik.

_Tok._

Decorated onyx eyes with severe dark circles have snapped open. He jolted up and induced piercingly back to concentrate on the reality of life. Harsh breathing and twinklers of sweat dripping on his very, very sickeningly looking skin. Then he dropped again to rest on his bed as his eyes decompressed to their prior state. An emanated sigh of impediment. Legs stretched but heart aching with many unspoken promises. Thoughts are rotting meaninglessly but he glanced to the clock, and by the words of it, this night is quiet. More sincere and comforting than the rest. 

So plain, so dull. So tranquil... So sincere. But so, _so_ traumatizing. It was swallowing him.

Minutes laying down on his back as he collects himself. He then shifted to the other side to stare at the curtained window to restrict and filter the saffron medallion from harassing eyes. He blinked then closed his eyes longer as he endures the stinging pain. Mind's utterly blank with serenity but he decided to give up on trying to sleep. He does not recall the last time he saw pure light or fallen asleep for more than thirty minutes. He, himself, covered all the windows of his house with black tape to become one with the darkness of his heart.

A room with no decoration such as his, not even the slightest. No sense in making it _at least_ somewhat _bearable_ for him. It was just _unattractive and very frank._ Walls are solely white with a bit of lapis, the usual intimidating room. Most suitable for ones like him that desire to advance their insanity.

Eyes drifting to the creamy stained drawer next to his bed. Upon it were three things. A very dusty, and neglected bedside lamp. Almost crowded with webs. A bunch of pills the doctor has prescribed for him to stay alive. The aroma of many medications and drugs pervaded his nostrils without his approval. H _e detests it. They always tasted too bitter. Gen never tried to take them. He has no reason to take them_. But in which they, as well, were left dusty and neglected, crowded with webs.

Lastly a clock. A very working clock. _The most alive thing in the room. Not dusty, not crowded with webs._ But still very much neglected.

Tik.

_Tok._

Tik.

_Tok._

_Shriek._

_But it truly did its job to be the most alive thing in this room. To rouse his breathing soul from the seized death of his desire._

The constant temper of the hectic ticking clock _. S_ till fulfilling its goal with screeches. In regards to his very goal to march upon the thorns of his own blood, with its very irritating tumultuous bickering of the brisk wheel of time. Gen was too drained to bother in terminating the existence of this clock. However, was it actually night-time? he does not know. The clock says so, but it always been dark in his room.

It really does not matter anymore.

Remarkably weary eyes peering at the fruitless side of the bed next to him. He stared at it for so long with blank thoughts. Dry lips hanging open, cheeks with loss of colour and the sour cold taking over his anaemic body to deliver strain to his frail heart. He recognizes this spot... Who used to lay next to him and cocoon him with warmth? Thoughts still empty. Empty thoughts hurt. _So empty, why they are so empty? How long was it? Who used to sleep there?_

 _Who?_ He seeks every day. Someone special, _he knows._ Their appearance though, _how was it?_ Their name? _How did it use to play on his tongue?_

It has been fifteen years since the world has been restored. Fifteen years of Gen Asagiri being in utter despair and solitude. It has been an exceptionally long time, he has forgotten the reason or who made him suffer in the first place.

The mattress wasn't stretched with the aroma of 'that' person anymore. He can't evoke the fragrance anymore, nor the flavour of his lips after many, many years. That side is left unattained, clean and odourless. Though, welcoming enough to embrace that person again whenever he is eager to be back. A part of him tells him it is pointless to hope when the existence of _him_ is just a mere mention of words and a lingering thought for saving the world. 

By sacrifice. 

Reality is, that side of bed became more bitter and serves no purpose whatsoever. A reminder to Gen that it will forever stay abandoned.

Tired orbs still studying at the very taintless side of thei _—his_ bed. Then throughout the unscathed room. Looking and observing, precisely at everything. _Never_ stopped gazing at anything that stresses the mentalist with the no more existed lover of his.

Fancied liquid adrenaline of tones suddenly played. Gen started playing that certain song for almost five years now. Putting it in a constant repeat to ease his desiring yet suffocating heart. It was the song that was ultimately created in the process of restoring the world. A one _'that person'_ favoured from all other songs that have been produced. Heads not empty, _he recalls._

He recalls how he would force that specific song on all the time while experimenting. He would also constantly make them move rhythmically to. So _blurry,_ but it is there. In which in the end, ended in a series of delightful giggles from the multi-coloured haired male and then he would smirk, proudly. _Blurry._ The smirk, one Gen couldn't forget its shape.

 _Smirking proudly for_ _making him, Gen Asagiri, genuinely laugh._

 _Indeed_ it was, _his lingering laughter and voice_ , truly fixing flawlessly with the almost shattering clock and the everlasting thoughts of his head now. So many things happening at once now, the night is not so quiet anymore. His heart is aching more. The clock gave up and has it eased its screaming. Yet the song kept playing. Playing... and playing. Again and _again._

Roaming his eyes then to _their_ dusted antique pictures portrayed on that very unclean, stained walls. When was the last time he truly viewed at the photos displayed on the walls of his room? Pictures that only serve the role of evoking him with what he has suffered and won't have back again. He knows, he knows if he goes and has a look, he will know how _'that person'_ looks like. However, _is it worth it?_ it will leave him only with disturbing uncertainty. Explicate him a flashback of a perpetual movie in regards to their whatever _connection they had_ back then in those images.

He sighed, then moved away from the bed. He found himself walking unevenly, and painfully to the windows with an intention this time. Gen slid the curtains away and has opened windows to look at one thing he still hates. He remembers that he hates.

Eyes ahead now to the only specialist of light in his darkroom, his optics focused on the pulsars of greatness. Stars, _why does he hate him?_ Suffered from the uncurtained windowpane of his room. He noticed that even the stars don't seem as vivacious or significant anymore _and didn't lead him anywhere._

 _Looking, and observing. At everything that evokes him with the no more existed lover of his._ 'He' cherished at viewing those shallow twinklers, didn't _he?_ Why though? He can't seem to remember. He does, however, recall something he once said about them.

_''It keeps flickering without the commitment of darkness.''_

He thought to himself, as those words of his repeated on his head. He overlays his shadowed eyes with his right hand and then closed the window very harshly.

_'He', the light, the saviour, did not need him, the darkness as much to flicker._

The capacity of the menacingthrobbing on his very heart, something that he began growing habitual to instead of the wickedness. The aches of the yearning to the individual his soul craved the most reflected through the very nucleus of his vessels and degrading every fibre of his body. It matured to the agony that he started savouring on to _live_. 

The glow of the crescent grieving soul within him, with his own vital fluid and not-functioning body beginning to kill him now. His kernels of sights can't seem to appreciate the richness of summer and spring anymore... He can't grasp the reality anymore or its beauty anymore. He can't remember anyone's faces. Not his lover, nor his friends.

 _How useless I am_ , he reckoned, _then tsked._

_What's the point anymore? The stars have succumbed again, non-existent. The world has recovered with many buildings again. They are not visible anymore as they used in that shitty world. But the dim, night sky? Why is it still ongoing?_

_Why is he still ongoing? His star... How can_ darkness live without its light, _it does not make sense._

Rubbing his eyes sternly yet to only correspond with immediate pain on his wearying eyes. Gradually shifting his misfunction figure to make the rust-coloured essence that his body is now absorbed to. In the replacement of the hazardous, alcoholic liquid, Gen Asagiri ceased downing in coffee now in honour of _his_ death.

_The least he could do for him._

Letting _his_ chosen song playing without the sympathy of letting it rest and letting the opposite side of the bed utterly untarnished, purely unattained with the hope to grasp the scent of _him_ that is so, _withdrawn_ to the oblivion. The mentalist, still letting the trails of his lover linger in his incompetent life. Letting it to remind him how worthless he was, and still _is_ as a human. He died because of him. He had to die because of him. _There is no one to blame other than himself._

Gen Asagiri is _weak enough to forget about him._

_But not weak enough to terminate himself to join his lover._

The melody of air enveloping him now is astonished by that very sharp smell of coffee. Its lustrous exterior. The aura of that fine brownish tusche of sharpness while his bony hands began to swirl the cup of steaming coffee very slow. Then he stopped swirling. His eyes looked at the brown liquid as it reflects him the view of his death-alike face. Angrily, he swirled faster to get rid of the image as the freshly hot drink spilled on his hands. He bit chapped lips very tightly in pain with eyes boiling with tiny beads of tears.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. _He really did._ The raw pain is becoming immensely harder to endure but he still paid regard to the air stuffed with tones. Paid regard to the drink he must consume. The drink _'he'_ absorbed to stay up late at night to work in restoring the world. Gen has to devour this daily. Injured hands holding the cup shakingly to sip the hot drink. He _blinked harshly,_ _coughed_ , and soon realized that the coffee on his hand doesn't taste the same when it's done by him. _Doesn't taste as pleasant and heart-warming by him._

_The room does not look the same anymore._

_His face does not look the same anymore._

_Nothing is the same..._

**_NOTHING IS THE SAME ANYMORE._ **

**Tik.**

The cup fell and shattered.

Faster than he broke down.

**_Tok._ **

He dropped down and shattered.

Faster than he confessed his love to him.

**Tik.**

Cries. He cried. Waves of tears. Tears of longing and despair. Sobs of blues, purely blue and release.

_**Tok.** _

_O_ _h, poor mentalist. Don't you think now it is the right time to die for him?_

After all, Senku Ishigami died for you.

_Only to declare his undying love to you._

**_Shriek._ **

_Cheeks finally filled with colour from his very painful crying. Snotty nose. Teary eyes, dripping till the edge of his chin. He_ _stared at the very tempting shattered glass._

_Very tempting shattered glass..._

_Perhaps he is weak enough to terminate himself to join his lover..._

Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys liked this very vague piece. i suffered a lot while writing this chapter. 
> 
> don't forget to leave kudos and comments! :)


End file.
